


Capriola

by printessa



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-02-21 00:10:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2448161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/printessa/pseuds/printessa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lovino feels in touch with the world only through his brief, sexual encounters. Desperate not to be alone, he attempts to find someone to hold onto, only to find himself smitten with an emotionally-troubled Spaniard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gun Hip Swollen Lip, Yeah I Suck Dick

**Author's Note:**

> I did have this fic posted on ff.net (where it will be/is deleted from), but I decided to repost it here in hopes that I could rekindle my love for the story since I would like to continue it.
> 
> I must note that this is based heavily off of an Australian movie called Somersault. I'm taking the story and rewriting it in more depth with characters from Hetalia. So, the plot is not entirely my own and I do not claim any ownership over the movie or the entirety of the idea. I simply thought it would be a good fic and decided to do a kind of retelling of it. I do plan on doing a sequel, which will be entirely of my own creation. This first part, however, is not. There are some quotes taken from the script, so I'm citing the movie here and now, as I don't intend to plagiarize.

Lovino's mother had once looked so big and strong; he respected and (sometimes) feared her, but she was the only person that he ever really had to look up to. She'd tell him stories, occassionally giggling as their family cat would rub up against her slim, bare ankles – her voice had always been comforting, musical and soft - kind of like the old wind chime that the house's previous owner had left behind. His mamma had always been a beautiful woman, and he was lucky enough to have inherited some of that beauty (even if he didn't often see it). They both shared the same dark chocolate hair, those sharp eyes that seemed to fluctuate between hazel and a dim green. Their skin was the same shade of light olive and both seemed to have surprisingly slim bodies. The two were stubborn and quick to anger (although his mother could never hold a grudge like Lovino) and he would never have the same smile or sparkling eyes that she did. Still, he admired her and nothing would change that.

When Lovino was younger, his mother would always carry him out into their small backyard as she put their bed sheets out to dry. She'd set him down on the old, plastic lawn chair; the hot seat always burnt his thighs at first, on account of the sun beating down on it all morning, though he tried not to complain about it. Many of his mornings were spent like this, watching his mother putting up their white bed sheets with the Spanish sun always reflecting off of her olive skin. She always smiled and told him those tales about princes who found their princesses and witches who kidnapped children from the forest under false pretences. These were his favourite memories, watching his mother hang up those sheets and hearing the stories that she had to tell, as odd as it might have sounded. He liked being able to quietly listen to her speak as the sun's warm rays washed over them. Though Spain had never been as warm as Italy, when Lovino was outside he found that he could at least  _pretend_ that he was back home.

She was always around back then, and that probably had to do with the fact that she wanted to take on the role of both a mother and a father for Lovino; his father having left a few years after Feliciano's birth. Lovino never understood why this happened, and whenever he asked his mother, she'd get quiet and try to change the subject; he'd long since realized that bringing it up was a bad idea. When Feliciano was about six years old and Lovino was eight, it was decided that they'd move to Spain. However, Feliciano was to stay back with their grandfather since it seemed like the boy had a flourishing talent for painting and the man wanted to take him under his wing. Admittedly, Lovino felt quite jealous - he didn't want to go to Spain, he just wanted to stay in Italy with his family- But his mother wanted a change of scenery, she wanted to go somewhere new, and so Spain became his new home.

Naturally, the Southern Italian was horribly unhappy at first, having put up quite the fight as his mother had to almost drag him onto the airplane. Truthfully, he was just afraid to be so far away from the place where he'd grown up; a place that seemed so comfortable and safe... Not to mention the fact that, as a young child, he still held onto the possibility that his papa would come home one day, and he was afraid that if they weren't there, then his papa would leave again. Every time his mother told him that it wasn't going to happen, he would throw a fit; he'd yell about how much he hated living in Spain and on a few occasions, he even tried to run away (although after getting about two blocks away from the house, he always ran back home in a panicked fit). As the Italian grew older, he came to realise that his father would never come back to them, and he begrudgingly accepted the fact that he wouldn't be leaving Spain for quite awhile.

So Lovino got used to the cooler, Spanish weather and the laid back nature of the country's people; he learned their language and (somewhat) assimilated to their culture. Albeit, he could never truly say that he was happy there. It always felt like there was something missing, like there was something more that he could never quite grasp onto; he had a void to fill. Whatever that something was, Lovino could never seem to pin it down. Perhaps it was because whatever it was, he had never had it, and so there was no possible way that he could tag a name onto something that was unbeknownst to him.

As Lovino's mother slowly began to distance herself, that void he felt grew larger and larger. Oftentimes, it came to a point where he could feel an overwhelming emptiness consuming him. Like any other soul-searching teenager at the time, he was desperate to find something to fill that void – even if it only served as nothing more than a quick fix.

Sex proved to be said quick fix.

No one truly knew or even expected that Lovino Vargas, the feisty foreigner from Italy, would ever lower himself to that level. However, Lovino could hardly see it as "lowering himself" simply because when he was having sex, no matter whom with, he felt like that void in his heart was being temporarily filled. When hands, skilled or unskilled, ghosted over his sweat-slicked skin and lips burned trails across his neck and over his collar bones, he wasn't alone. It was comforting to be able to rest in another's arms; at least until they disappeared when the dim morning light roused them from Dream Land. Maybe he'd feel slightly hurt when he awoke to an empty bed, but it was sickly reassuring to know that he could always find a new partner before the day was done.

It was easy to hide what he was doing from his mother, who was slowly falling into the clutches of alcoholism and was rarely home anyways. From the surprisingly young age of fourteen, Lovino was immersing himself into situations that were just as intimate as those that only (for the most part) adults experienced. It felt like these acts were the only things that were keeping him grounded; without the comfort and acceptance of others, there seemed to be no point in living.

Lovino liked to make excuses and blame others for many things, but he could never bring it upon himself to blame anyone for what he was doing – it was all on him. Yet, in the back of his mind, Lovino was aware that he still did blame his regrettable actions on those around him; especially his family. He harboured an inferiority complex geared towards his brother, he felt angry at his grandfather for not taking him in, and he was disappointed in how his mother seemed to fade away from his life so suddenly... But more than anything, he was angry at his father for leaving.

All of this seemed to bombard him at once, as he stood on his tip-toes, carefully tearing down his white bed sheets from the clothes line set up in the back yard. Perhaps if his mother wasn't already out, hitting the bottle, they could be doing this together. Instead of telling him the juvenile fairytales that she used to, she could tell him about her life; she could tell him about how she used to be, how she had once handled high school, how she was popular and all the boys tried to hit on her... Maybe she could even tell Lovino about how she met his father. He had always wanted to know about his mother's life, but he was sure that he would never get the luxury of hearing her stories.

Shaking his head, Lovino rid of these thoughts and reached down, pulling the now full laundry basket from the grassy lawn and propping it against his sharp hip as he started towards the house's side entrance. Ever since he was little, Lovino had disliked the interior of their home. Everything inside seemed too old, the lighting was too dim, and the paint and wallpaper was peeling so much that they looked to be hanging onto the walls for dear life. Sometimes he felt afraid that the roof would fall in on them, even if he knew that house was fairly sturdy. To him, it had never been home, because there was always something missing… Worse now that his mother was never there.

' _At least I have the cat...'_  Lovino thought to himself, placing the laundry basket atop the washer, feeling Gino rub against his ankles briefly.

' _And then there's him.'_  He added, turning the corner and looking into the living room, where he spotted that head of messy, brunette hair peeking up from over the couch.


	2. Raphael, You Know Just How To Take Me In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note before-hand, because I've had some confusion on this. Raphael is not Antonio, is in no way related to him, not is he an OC country. He's simply Lovino's live-in boyfriend. He's here for plot purposes only.

A sigh passed Lovino's pink lips as he pushed himself from the peeling, beige wall. Just a few steps into the living room revealed the man slumped on the couch, a hand loosely held onto the beer bottle that rested between his legs. Lovino couldn't help but watch him. Raphael's breathing was enticing – in and out, slowly and evenly, as if each one was perfectly calculated. His toned chest rose with each inhale and seemed to dramatically deflate with each exhale... He could tell that the other was asleep at the moment. He must've dozed off sometime during his soccer game, which was still playing on their small television set.

As Lovino rounded the couch, he faintly heard the crowd cheering ' _Meta! Meta!_ ' in a jubilant manner. Noting the score (7 – 1, although he didn't know who the teams were), he clicked the TV off and began to tidy up the room to the best of his ability – it was something that he'd gotten better at since his mother didn't get around to it nearly as much these days. After gently prying the half-empty bottle from the man's hand and placing it on the coffee table ( _away_  from the foot that was resting there, since Lovino didn't want to have to clean up spilt beer), he reached over and pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and over Raphael's body.

Rare as it was for Lovino to show so much care towards another, he knew how wrong it was... Especially with these blossoming feelings that he had for the man, who happened to be his mother's live-in boyfriend. Still, as his fingers gently moved a few curly locks out of the man's eyes, he couldn't help but feel his heart hammering. Ever since his mother had met the man, he became Lovino's primary caretaker – he stayed home even when Lovino's mother never was, he was the one who made sure that Lovino woke up on time in the morning and that he was properly fed. It was only natural that he began to feel close to someone who treated him so kindly, and when he began to feel a need for the other, Lovino told himself just that; ' _it's only natural..._ '

**ooo**

The remainder of Lovino's afternoon was spent alone. It was one of the few times where he didn't mind it so much, because when his mother wasn't home then he had an excuse to spend the day in the company of Raphael. However, since it was Sunday, he opted to let the man rest – instead of pestering him, Lovino sat in his mother’s room, adding to his diary.

Well, it wasn't a diary, per se... That was a fucking girly way of putting it. It was more like a journal, mostly holding pictures and small snippets of writing about things that he wanted to do and places he wanted to be. Flipping through each page, it was easy to see how the Italian's goals had changed over the years. There was one picture, from when he was younger, of someone standing next to his favourite Italian model, but he had pasted his own face over that that was next to her; obviously something from when he was just a boy. There were a plethora of pictures of Italy, namely Naples and Rome, as well as pictures of he and his mother together (although through the years of having the journal, those became less and less), random clips from magazines or newspapers, and even bits of his own writing. As lame as the thought was, Lovino liked to think that it was a little sneak peek into his heart – what he desired, how he _actually_  felt and how said heart had changed over time.

Picking up the old sports magazine from his nightstand, the Southern Italian began to lazily flip through it, reaching up with his free hand to push a few stray strands of dark brown hair behind his ear as his eyes scanned over the glossy, colourful pages. "Ah hah..." He breathed out, reaching for the spare pair of scissors that he kept in his room. A contented hum flowed from his lips as he gently began to cut out the picture of some man with perfect poise, a confident smile on his face, and one arm wrapped almost protectively around his surfboard.

In all his years of living in Spain, Lovino's mother had only taken him out to the beach once. They lived further inland, closer to Madrid, and so it was always a trip that was too "out-of-the-way" to make on a regular basis. But Lovino loved the beach, and he especially loved watching the surfers glide over the waves. It looked so effortless, like they were flying, even when he could see that they were always intensely focused on what they were doing. Yet he knew that in order to be able to surf they had to have strong bodies, as well as enough courage to know that surfing was dangerous, even deadly. The Italian felt understandably jealous of these men and women, wishing that he could have the gull, strength, and patience to pull off such a sport. However, he was too much a coward and far too easily frustrated to ever take on a tutor.

A small frown made its way onto the young man's face as he tipped the bottle of paste down towards the paper. He supposed that it was just one more thing that he'd never get to experience, he thought with a sigh. Instead of lingering on the subject for too long, though, he distracted himself with the task at hand. Lovino smoothed his fingers over the cut-out magazine picture, working out the wrinkles and puddles of glue that lay underneath. When finished, he used his finger nail to scoop up the excess glue that squeezed its way out from under the picture, cleaning the new page up until he felt satisfied.

Just as Lovino went to lay the journal on his desk, he heard Raphael call for him.

"Just a minute!" He called back, setting the book down before running a hand through his hair (just in case). He always felt nervous when he left his journal out to dry, but Lovino felt that he would much rather risk the ( _very slight_ ) chance of someone seeing what he wrote in it than having to deal with the pages sticking together and ripping. There were only two people in the house at the moment, he realised with a shrug as he exited the room, closing the door behind him as a precaution. He’d snatch it from his mother’s room later on.

"Si?" He asked as he rounded the corner, finding his mother's boyfriend folding up the blanket that Lovino had put over him earlier.

"It's getting pretty late; I think we should go and pick up your mother." He informed Lovino, carefully placing the blanket back over the back of the couch, where it belonged.

"Oh, shit... I didn't even realise." He pouted a bit, shoulders slumping.

"Mm, well go and put on your shoes. We're leaving soon."

"Alright..." And with that, Lovino made his way towards the front door, slipping on a pair of sandals as Raphael shuffled around the living room a moment, presumably looking for his car keys. Once he located them, Lovino proceeded out the door and towards the passenger's side of the car. Moments later, Raphael hopped in. It was practically an every-night routine, for the pair to go out to Bodega, Lovino's mother's favourite bar. She'd actually met Raphael there... Although the man wasn't one for drinking every single night, and as much as he'd tried to pull Miss Vargas out of her alcoholism, she was too damn stubborn to listen. Lovino assumed that his sticking around was the only thing he could really do for his mother. The Italian could hardly complain, if it meant that he had someone to take care of him.

For someone to actually take the time and effort to put up with Lovino seemed monumental. When Raphael first came into the picture, the feisty Italian was rude and harsh. Of course he hated the idea of his mother seeing someone! It wasn't that he thought that his father was going to come prancing back into their life, because at that point in time he wasn't naive enough to trick himself into believing that. He felt like Raphael would steal his mother away even more than the alcohol already was. Plus, he didn't want another man hurting his mother.

However, Raphael put up with him. The Spaniard had been nothing but kind and patient. When Lovino swore at him and yelled at the top of his lungs, he would simply tell him to calm down, nothing more and nothing less. After awhile, it seemed to start working (or maybe Lovino was just sick and tired of hearing him repeat the same fucking command over and over again); Lovino grew used to his mother's new boyfriend and. Even though he  _still_  often acted like it, he was well aware that he didn't hate Raphael as much as he claimed to.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Whether or not Raphael was aware of or even returned Lovino's feelings was unbeknownst to the Italian. With every single day, hiding those feelings was becoming more and more of a challenge

"Every single time we're in the car, you do that." Raphael commented almost offhandedly.

"What?" Lovino snapped back, pouting at the other man as he pulled his gaze away from the window.

"You space out like that... What's on your mind?"

The comment caused the Italian to flush a deep red, and he looked back out the window with his lips pulled down into a frown. Was he really paying that much attention to what Lovino did in the car? He had to be, otherwise Raphael wouldn't notice...

"Uhm, well," He started, trying to calm his pounding heart. "I just wonder what everyone else is thinking about, I guess. I wonder what their lives are like, how they're feeling, where they're going. Just looking at them, you can't tell, but sometimes I make up... Erm, stories." He admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed. Even more so as the other man laughed at him.

"You're kind of weird." Raphael commented.

Lovino glared, crossing his arms over his chest, simply letting out an indigent huff.

"But you're smart,  _very_  smart." He reassured the younger man.

Said man tried to hide how his face immediately lit up, willing away the smile that tugged at his lips. "Suck up." He muttered simply.

"I'm not." Raphael commented as he turned into the lot in front of Bodega. Lovino replied with nothing more than a slightly annoyed hum, unbuckling his seatbelt as they pulled into a parking spot. From here, Lovino knew the drill – without another word, he pushed open the passenger's side door and swung his legs to the side, easily sliding out of the vehicle.

Funny, how no one in the bar even bothered to ask who Lovino was or why he was at the bar. Being about eight at night, there were Spanish natives, as well as tourists, constantly entering and exiting the bar. It was Tapas time (Spanish bar hopping, ' _ir de tapas_ ', the span of starting after work hours were over and before having dinner), which would have made it hard for Lovino to spot his mother... If he hadn't already known exactly where she was. Trained eyes spotted her instantly, sitting in the back of the bar with a few of her friends, head tipped back as she let out a hearty laugh (he had to wonder why she never laughed like that at home anymore), not even aware that she was about to spill her wine all over the man next to her. As she calmed down and sat up in her seat, her eyes seemed to catch Lovino's instantly; he liked to think that it was her motherly instinct kicking in, but in reality it was simply because she was so used to him coming to pick her up.

Lips pursed, the woman slid off of her bar seat, holding up a finger as if to tell the group she was with that she'd be back in a moment. In spite of the slightly annoyed look that crossed the woman's face, her son gave a nervous, little smile, hands fiddling with one of the miscellaneous business cards laid out on the bar's counter.

"What are you doing here?" She asked a bit impatiently.

Lovino held back a flinch, "What do you think I'm doing here?"

"Isn't it a school night? You should be asleep."

"As if you really care." Lovino couldn't help rolling his eyes as he reached out to wave away the smoke from the cigarette that his mother was currently sucking on.

"Where's Raphael?" She asked.

"In the car."

"Right... You knew that I was out having a drink tonight."

He scoffed, looking away from his mother, acting like he was simply trying to wave away the cigarette smoke again. It wasn't just tonight that she was " _out having a drink_ "; it was nearly every damn night for the past three years. "Sorry..." He finally muttered, glaring down at the glossy bar-top and rocking back and forth on his heels.

There was a moment of silence between them before his mother let out a sigh, bitter smoke followed. "Alright, go wait in the car. I need to get my purse." She finally agreed, reaching over and tousling the boy's hair almost lovingly before turning on her heel and going back towards her table. Lovino watched her for only a moment as she downed the rest of her glass of wine, and then turned around himself, glad to be leaving the all too familiar bar.

The wet gravel crunched under his feet, further reminding him that it was Spain's rainy season, as it had been sprinkling lightly nearly all day. Not that Lovino minded the fact that it rained more in Spain than it did in Italy was actually an upside to living in this damn place. When he reached the car, he pulled open the door, a huff escaping his lips as he lowered himself into one of the backseats, scooting over until he was behind Raphael.

The Italian had to wonder if it was just his imagination when he heard the shrill squeak of the rear-view mirror being tilted down, as if to look into the backseat... And when he caught Raphael looking at him through it, a soft sigh escaping the man, he felt his heart hammer, possibly more so than it had been when he'd been called " _smart_ " earlier.

Of course, the tiny smile that had made its way onto his lips disappeared as soon as his mother clumsily pulled herself into the car and immediately went to wrap her arms around Rahpael's neck, pulling him into a sloppy kiss. As jealousy boiled up within the Italian boy, he turned his angry scowl out towards the window, crossing his arms over his chest as he heard Raphael put the car into drive. It was sick that he would become so jealous and possessive over Raphael when the man wasn't even his; he was his  _mother's_  boyfriend for fuck’s sake... But Lovino couldn't help it. He felt like maybe,  _just maybe_  there was more to the relationship between them than a son-figure and a father-figure. Why else would someone put up with him and care for him like Raphael did?

 


	3. Dirty Dog, Dusty Pawed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is wondering about the (possibly) slightly odd chapter titles, they're all from CocoRosie songs.

Lovino could hear the sounds of his mother moving about the house, likely getting ready for a day of work. It being a Saturday, he didn't have school. One might think that the Italian would have been peeved at being woken up so early every single morning, but that was the way that it had always been – he was naturally an early riser. As Lovino grew too old to sleep in his mother's bedroom, she started to give the space up to him and slept on the living room couch. Eventually he insisted that she take the space instead; even more so when Raphael moved in. The only time that he went into the room was for privacy – such as when he wrote in his diary. Er, _journal_ … He was used to everyone else's business waking him up, whether it be the flush of the toilet or someone getting up for a glass of water.

As he heard his mother walking down the hall, Lovino jumped up from the couch and began to search for his clothes. It wasn't uncommon for him to sleep pretty much naked (leaving only his boxers on), if not completely nude. His mother had a nasty habit of teasing him when she saw him like that, and so he made sure to quickly throw a shirt on over his head before sliding his legs through a pair of jeans. Seconds later, his mother walked into the room, giving Lovino a sideways glance as he snapped the button on his pants and proceeded to follow her into the kitchen.

"Have you seen Gino this morning?" He asked curiously, padding softly behind his mother. Normally the cat would sleep with him, but Lovino hadn't seen him since Friday afternoon.

"No, why?" The woman answered simply; rushed.

"I haven't seen him this morning. He hasn't touched his food from last night, either." Lovino pointed out; worry just barely lacing his tone.

"Well, he'll be alright." She said, voice slightly sympathetic as she picked up a glass of water that she must have filled sometime last night, taking a sip before turning to her son. "I have to get the bus." She said, reaching over and pulling Lovino tight to her for a moment, breathing in the scent of her son's hair. "Oh, you're hair smells good." She laughed lightly, turning and exiting out the back door – gone in seconds.

Once he heard the lock's tell-tale  _click_ , Lovino began moving about, preparing a cup of hot cocoa for Raphael. He had never been fond of the thickly sweet brand that the Spaniard was, but that didn't mean that he minded making it for the man. Humming to himself, Lovino grabbed one of the special mugs out from dishwasher – the one with that witty joke that always made Raphael chuckle. Boiling the milk (because the Spaniard thought that water made it taste too bland) took a few minutes, but once he finished, Lovino spooned in a few scoops of hot cocoa mix and began to stir the piping-hot drink. Careful not to spill a drop, Lovino took hold of the cool handle and picked it up from the counter, turning to exit the kitchen.

When Lovino entered the bedroom, Raphael looked up a moment, greeting the boy with a lazy "hola" before briefly turning his attention back to whatever was playing on the television.

A very slight smile tugged at the corners of the Italian's lips as he walked towards the bed, arm stretching out as he handed the hot beverage over. "I made you a cup of cocoa." He explained as Raphael took the mug – his heart skipped a beat as the man's fingertips brushed over his knuckles.

"Thanks." He murmured, taking a small sip. Lovino simply nodded, moving to sit on the foot of the bed, his back to the man – and damn, was he ever thankful that Raphael couldn't see the way his cheeks flushed when he complimented the drink. He went as far as to call it "perfect", which Lovino couldn't help but feel flattered by.

His blush took a few seconds to fade away, and once it did the boy looked over his shoulder, a nervous little smile playing upon his lips. "How come you aren't at work?" He asked conversationally.

"It's raining." He said, nodding towards the window, as if to make his point, before taking another sip of the cocoa.

"Right." Lovino said softly, feeling a bit stupid for not thinking of that before. Raphael did outside work – construction to be exact. It was no wonder that he had such a nicely toned body. Lovino wondered what it felt like, to feel those muscles moving underneath his fingertips. "H – Hey... Did those hurt?" He asked suddenly, trying to save himself when he noticed Raphael watching him stare at the man's bare chest, which was decorated in a few tattoos.

"A little." Raphael gave a nonchalant shrug as he reached over and placed the nearly-empty mug on the nightstand.

Almost hesitantly, Lovino turned his body fully around, his hands itching to reach out and touch that perfectly tanned skin.

"After awhile, it just feels like your skin is asleep." he gave a chuckle, sitting up a little. "I'm sure you can imagine, it jabbing at you over and over." He reached out, lightly pinching at Lovino's arm over and over.

The younger man gave a small laugh, shrugging his shoulders as he tried to shoo away the prying fingers. "Can I feel it?" He asked, hand already reaching out. He let it hover over the man's chest, hazel eyes trained on the other's dark-brown set intensely.

"It feels like skin." He said with an anxious look in his eyes as Lovino leaned closer.

"Can I feel it?" He asked again, voice a bit lower. He didn't bother to wait for an answer; Lovino simply lowered his hand and began to glide his fingertips over the warm, tanned skin, tracing the dragon tattoo that was inked upon Raphael's chest. He had no doubt that those were goose bumps forming underneath his fingers, and he couldn't help but let a smirk tug at his lips as he heard the man underneath him draw in a sharp breath.

The move started out almost hesitant. Lovino flashed his half-lidded gaze up to meet Raphael's. Slowly, slowly... Soon gaining a bit of speed as his confidence grew, and within seconds Lovino felt Raphael's warm, slightly moist lips against his, _kissing back_. Hazel eyes flittered shut in absolute bliss as he pushed into the kiss almost insistently. For the few seconds they pulled away, Lovino felt terrified that Raphael would reject him, tell him that this was wrong... But the man pushed forward, planting open-mouthed kisses atop Lovino's lips, coaxing the boy into opening his own mouth – which he did without a single complaint.

Raphael's five o' clock shadow would have bothered Lovino, what with the way the stubble poked at the soft skin around his mouth, but as the man's large, warm hand lifted up his shirt, he decided that he couldn't care less. Somehow or another, he ended up underneath the elder man, smaller hands tightly gripping his biceps as Raphael's larger pair gripped his narrow waist, travelling up his shirt every now and then to stoke at Lovino's soft, covered skin. It didn't take long for Lovino to completely give in to Raphael, his hands dropping limply to his sides as he arched into the other's hasty, almost rough touch. They both began to pant, bodies and lips moving against one another in a horribly forbidden kind of dance, legs intertwined and hands crawling desperately over heated skin.

Neither men heard the front door open up and slammed close, nor did they notice the woman fuming because she missed her bus as she neared the room's opened door.

"Wh – What?" Said woman's soft voice rang out. It was easy to note the disbelief, anger, betrayal, and slight panic that was laced within her tone.

Eyes went wide as they both turned their attention to the figure standing at the bedroom door. "Fuck!" Raphael hissed, and in seconds he was pushing Lovino away, "Get off!" He growled, pushing Lovino out from under him roughly, causing the Italian to fall onto the ground.

The younger boy scrambled to his feet, cheeks painted a deep, humiliated red and eyes wide with fear as he followed after his mother. "Mamma?" He called almost pathetically from down the hall, unable to see the panic and anger on the woman's face. Upon entering the living room, he found her reaching for a cigarette, hands trembling.

"Stay away from me." She said, voice shaking as she obviously tried to hold back tears. "What was that?" She asked, refusing to look at her son for longer than a second.

"M – Mamma." He tried again, taking a step towards the distressed woman.

"Stay away from me!" She yelled angrily, pushing Lovino away.

Lovino then stumbled back, nearly tripping over his own feet. When he finally gained back his balance, Raphael entered the room, angrily insisting that they "weren't doing a goddamned thing". All Lovino could do was step back and watch, shaking hands clutched at his sides as he felt his face twist in agony. He felt utterly confused and upset – sure, he knew that what he was doing was wrong and he knew that he'd hurt his mother, but he'd never before actually seen her so angry. It wasn't something he was used to, and so Lovino couldn't comprehend why she would tell him to get away and why she'd pushed him when he was trying his hardest to apologise. The only seemingly logical reason that he could come up with was that she hated him now.

Because his eyes were clamped shut, Lovino wasn't sure of exactly what was going on in front of him – everything felt too chaotic, too terrifying; all he wanted to do was hide. His mother was yelling, Raphael was yelling back, and by sounds of thudding footfalls, he was sure that his mother was pushing the man around. Being the coward he was, all Lovino could do was stand back, rocking on his heels as tears escaped the corners of his shut eyes. She was yelling about having seen them, and the Spaniard just denied the whole thing... As confused as Lovino felt, he knew that what his mother had seen could not be refuted, not with the way that he and Raphael had been tangled up in one another.

Everything was moving too fast; seconds later Raphael exited the room and Lovino could hear him slam the bedroom door, shuffling things around. He didn't doubt that the man was leaving.

"I can't believe you." Came his mother's distraught voice, a small sob bubbling from her throat.

It was then that Lovino cracked open his eyes. In one last attempt to make her see how sorry he really was, Lovino took a few shaky steps towards the woman, only to be immediately rejected.

"Mamma?" He tried.

"Don't you  _dare_  speak to me." She warned, pushing her son out of the way and hastily making her way towards the bedroom where Raphael was. Lovino was sure that the neighbours could hear the yelling that ensued only seconds later.

It was then that Lovino realised what shame tasted like - hot cocoa and the reminiscence of day-old cigarettes.

 


	4. For The Record, My Heart Is Sore

The shrill ringing of the metropolitan station workers' phones echoed throughout the nearly empty, domed station. Lovino walked briskly, shoes tip-tapping along the white, tiled floors and shoulders slightly hunched, as if he were trying to hide himself from the world. In a way, he was.

Everything had happened so damn fast. One second there was yelling and fighting, he heard his name, and he heard cursing; the next second he was shoving what he could into a small backpack. The walk to the station had taken  _hours_. Lovino felt as though everything around him was moving too fast, sounded too loud; his head was spinning, it was like walking through jello on a hot summer's day rather than a rainy, spring after noon.

With a soft sigh, he sat himself on one of the chairs, the weight of the world seeming to sit right on top of him. He just needed a moment, to figure out what the hell he was doing. Hazel eyes travelled over to the glass, fingerprint-riddled phone booth. He shakily made his way towards it, almost afraid of this piece of technology – it could be the very last thing that linked him to his mother. He shoved a hand in his coat pocket and fingered through it and pulled out a few Euros and pushed them into the slot before entering his home phone number. And then he waited…

And waited…

And waited…

Only to get the answering machine.

He swallowed hard and listened to it – he and his mother laughing and asking whomever might be calling to leave a message. He felt his eyes begin to burn a bit as that beep sounded in his ear. His hands began to shake as he slammed the bulky, metal phone back down onto its receiver, taking a few steps back until his back collided with the phone booth wall.

So, that was it? He wasn't even going to be able to speak to his mother before he left…? His heart felt like it's just been carefully chipped away at, leaving a gaping hole right in the middle of it. He supposed that she didn't want him anymore. He couldn't blame her. He wasn't even angry just… Sad. Sad and disappointed.

**ooo**

"How much is it for a bus ticket to Llanes?" Lovino asked the plump woman behind the glass.

She dragged a finger over her schedule sheet until she came to the small town's name. "That'll be fifty Euros." She answered with a small smile.

"I have a student pass.  Can I get a discount?" He asked, reaching into his pocket and pushing the plastic card towards the woman.

"Thirty Euros." She nodded, printing him a ticket as Lovino passed her the correct amount of money. "The bus leaves in an hour." She informed him.

"Thank you." He muttered, taking the ticket and pocketing it before going back over to the benches to wait. He sat with his hands in his lap and one ear-bud pushed in, playing music that he wasn't really listening to as he stared down at his twiddling thumbs. It was incredible, how lonely he felt. Sure, before all he had an absentee mother and her boyfriend, who he was hopelessly in love with, but now he had no one. The thought only added to the weight on his shoulders.

**ooo**

An hour later, Lovino stood and went back outside, into the rain. Cliché, he thought, how the weather seemed to match his mood; sorrowful and dull.

Without a word he handed the bus driver his ticket, silently glad that, at the very least, it was warm inside and the seats were covered in what appeared to be relatively new cushioning. With a soft sigh, he adjusted his earphones and turned towards the window, pressing his forehead against the cool glass.

The ride felt like a long one, spanning until the sunset, but Lovino said not a word the entire time. Why should he? Everyone else on this bus seemed to be heading somewhere; they all had a plan and an actual reason for heading to Llanes… They all seemed happy. The Italian envied them. He had nothing and tried so hard to feel  _nothing_ , just the small pack on his back and a dying iPod. Nothing metaphorical about that. He just wanted to get away.

By the time the bus finally came to a stop, the sun had set hours ago, and thanks to the rain the air had a chilly bite to it. Lovino huffed, pulling his jacket tight around himself and putting up the faux-fur-rimmed hood over his ears as he neared the row of telephone booths. He made sure the Plexiglas door was closed tightly as he pulled out his wallet, the Velcro making a satisfying  _crunch_ as he pulled it open and slid one of the cards out of its slot. Looking at the numbers on said business card, he punched them in and impatiently waited for someone to pick up, lithe fingers drumming against the cool wall.

"Hello?" A voice finally asked.

"Hey. Uhm, can I speak to Ross?" He asked, trying to sound as polite as humanly possible.

"One minute." Came the young man's gruff reply. He sounded like he couldn't be much older than Lovino was.

"Ross speaking." Ah, now  _that_  was a familiar, Scottish-accented voice. A smile threatened to tug at Lovino's lips as he fingered the phone's curly, black wire.

"It's Lovino." He stated, his voice holding a touch of hopefulness. He had to remember, right?

"Who?" He said, obviously confused.

"Lovino. Lovino Vargas? You gave me your card and said that I could call if I was in Llanes and needed a job?"

"I don't remember that." Ross said, perhaps a bit more quickly than he'd spoken before.

"We met in Madrid!" He tried, biting at his lip.

"Don't call me again." The man on the other line snapped, and moments later all Lovino could hear was the dial tone.

Lovino stood there a moment, lips pressed into a thin line as he sighed though his nose. "Dammit." He muttered, leaning back against the door opposite of him. Maybe Llanes wasn't such a good idea.

Unsure of what else to do, he turned and quickly left the phone booth, cheeks burning a rosy pink. How could he have been so stupid? Of course Ross didn't want anything to do with him; it'd been almost a year now… ' _But he said I could have a job…_ ' He thought to himself as he walked along the sidewalk, eyes locked on the sign ahead of him.

_Tapas_  was an awfully typical name for a bar.

Inside, the music was too loud and the dance floor was too crowded. Lovino winced, hunching his shoulders a bit as he pushed his way through the mass of sweaty tourists. As uncomfortable as he felt with his surroundings, hazel eyes immediately began scanning over the various groups, trying to find someone who he might have a chance at staying the night with.

This seemed an unorthodox way of finding a place to room, but Lovino honestly didn't see it that way. He'd been using sex as a means to get the things he wanted for so long. At the very least, it made him feel good. ' _And I deserve to feel good right now._ ' He amended, despite the fact that he didn’t honestly believe that. He put on his best smirk as he headed towards the group of young men at the bar who already seemed sufficiently buzzed. It didn't take much to get them to buy him a shot.

The Italian wasn't a big drinker, on account of his mother's problem, but he humoured the group (especially that curly-haired blond who held an obvious interest for the seemingly exotic Italian) by drinking a few beers here and there.

As he grinned at said blond (whose name he didn't catch and didn't care to learn), he failed to notice the pair of emerald-hued eyes set intently on him.

A young man, not too much older than Lovino, watched from across the bar as Lovino lifted the mug of beer up to the light and peered through it, scrunching up his face at the way it distorted the faces around him. He couldn't help but wonder where he'd come from – given the young man's distinct features, he was Italian…. But he didn't care so much about that; he was  _beautiful_. The way he sashayed his shoulders and gave a tiny smirk, his thin, but perfectly shaped lips parting and revealing pearly whites when he let out a little laugh was all so alluring.

It felt near impossible to tear his gaze away from this newcomer, and he would have been perfectly content staring all night had he not had a friend with him. This friend managed to pull his attention away from the Italian for five split seconds and…

Just like that, the next time Antonio looked over to where the group had been, the stranger was gone.

**ooo**

Blondie, as Lovino had dubbed him, had his arm draped around the Italian's shoulder, one hand rubbing at his shoulder and the other nursing a beer to his chapped lips. They didn't speak as they walked to the trailer where Blondie was staying – Lovino took this time to marvel at the town. The sky was inky black, and because of the rows upon rows of streetlamps, not a single star could be seen. Back home, he could always point out at least one or two of the brighter constellations from his back yard. He missed that.

"It's not much." Blondie said, his much-too-loud voice pulling Lovino out of his reminiscing as he struggled to open a squeaky, glass door.

Lovino shrugged, beginning to pull off his jacket as his night's companion did the same. Within seconds, two large, cold hands were sliding over his shoulders, smoothing over his simple, cotton shirt. They kissed, but Lovino didn't put forth much zeal. Blondie wouldn't notice, he was too drunk. Lovino could taste the bitter beer on his tongue.


	5. Drowning In Your Watery Thighs, Luscious Eyes

Lovino was always up first, it was a personal rule of his. He’d long since come to the understanding that these nights he spent with other men were limited to exactly that - nights. He wasn’t expected to be there when his bed partners woke up, and part of him didn’t want to be. However, Blondie from last night neglected to tell him that he had roommates. The Italian woke to them shuffling around, causing him to shoot up in bed, immediately searching for his jeans. He was in the midst of pulling them on when one of said roommates woke up Blondie.

“Hey, kid, you gotta get up, we’re leaving.” A dark haired male stated as soon as Lovino managed to zip up his jeans.

Blondie managed a groggy “shut up” as he poured a cup of hot coffee from the kettle on the stove, bringing it over to Lovino.

“Where are you going?” The Italian then asked, gingerly taking the coffee and sipping at it. He had to force himself not to spit the watery, brown liquid back into the cup. He silently decided that he couldn’t drink this poor excuse for coffee, despite how the first sip warmed his belly. “Maybe I could come with?” He added, raising an eyebrow over the mug as he pretended to sip at its revolting contents.

“Er…” The blond stammered, fingers twitching nervously in his lap.

“He has a fucking girl friend.” One of his roommates, the same one who had urged Lovino to leave earlier, interrupted. Lovino didn’t need his input to understand what Blondie had been trying to convey through his stuttering, and couldn’t help but pass the dark-haired male a harsh scowl. He wasn’t asking to tag along because he had any sort of attachment to the blond; he just wondered if he could get any further away from home than he already was.

Able to take a hint, Lovino stood up and made his way over to the rack where he’d managed to hang his coat the night before, slipping on the cooled piece of clothing with a slight shudder. Moments later he left the small, rented out home, silently glad that Llanes was small enough for him to navigate the town by foot. He wondered if anyone was looking for him, as he kicked a loose pebble along the side of the road. Was his mother too angry to bother looking for him, or did she assume that he’d gone off with one of his friends for a few days? It wasn’t like he had a cell phone for her to track him with, and he was so far away from Madrid at this point…

Shaking those thoughts from his mind, Lovino tried to keep a look out for any ‘help wanted’ signs, figuring that he needed to find a job as quickly as possible. He even went as far as to slip into a few different shops, only to be turned down every time. There just wasn’t any extra work to be given during winter. 

Eventually, the Italian found himself sitting inside of a café/pub/souvenir shop, obviously a place meant to cater to the tourists during the warmer months of the year. At the moment, there weren’t too many people inside, just Lovino and about seven other people who he guessed were locals. He picked at the cinnamon pastry that he’d bought with some of his pocket change, his journal opened up in front of him to a mostly blank page. He busied himself by ripping out a section of the decorative napkin, a snowflake, pulling a bottle of glue from his backpack and pasting the thin tissue down into his journal.

It wasn’t until he heard the sound of someone approaching him that he looked up, immediately snapping the notebook shut. Bad idea. He really hoped that the pages wouldn’t stick together. Shoving the journal back into his bag, he tossed the vaguely familiar stranger a slightly impatient look.

“You’ve got something on your cheek.” The brunette pointed out, a smile twitching at his lips. Lovino somehow got the idea that this guy was always smiling. The Spaniard reached down from where he was standing, crouching a bit and brushing the pad of his thumb over Lovino’s quickly reddening cheek.

“It’s cinnamon.” He mumbled, pushing the man’s hand away as he stood up, feeling more vulnerable when he wasn’t at the other’s height. Infuriatingly, even standing, Lovino was the shorter of the two.

“I’m Antonio.” The Spaniard introduced himself after a moment of silence stretched between them, glancing over at the younger male in an expectant fashion.

“Lovino.” He finally introduced himself, looking over the other somewhat sceptically.

“Would you like a drink, Lovino?” Antonio offered a charming grin, which was absolutely impossible to refuse. Minutes later, they were sitting across from one another at a small table, the large windows providing a view of one of the popular beaches (though it was empty at the moment due to the chilly, morning weather). As Lovino nursed his coffee, which was a thousand fucking times better than the cup he’d had that morning, the Spaniard went on. “Where are you from?” He asked with surprisingly genuine curiosity.

“All over.” Lovino answered vaguely, surprised that the other could tell he wasn’t from around Llanes. Then again, the town seemed like the type of place where everyone knew one another. He wasn’t sure if he preferred it that way, or if he preferred the city, where people could easily keep to themselves.

“What brings you to Llanes?” Antonio cocked his head to the side, reminding Lovino of a curious puppy.

“It’s nice here.” Lovino shrugged, glancing towards the large windows. Frost clung to the corners of the outside glass and the beach looked absolutely dreary. Maybe it wasn’t nearly as nice in the late winter, but spring had already hit Madrid, so it would be warming up in the north in no time.

“Right. For tourists.” The Spaniard’s tone held a touch of amusement.

Lovino rolled his eyes, leaning forward, elbows on the table. If his mother were here, she’d be scolding him for his bad etiquette. “Like me?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at the man across the table, almost challenging him.

Antonio was quiet a moment, his expression softening. “No, not like you.” He replied, and the Italian wasn’t sure what it was about his warm timbre, but it brought a whole new rush of blood to his cheeks. He looked away, deciding to focus on the steam swirling up from his coffee. “I saw you dancing last night.”

Again, Lovino’s attention was caught. He glanced up, eyes narrowing a moment as he realised why the other seemed so familiar. “I saw you, too.”

“Where was I sitting?” He asked, as if he didn’t believe the Italian.

“With your loud, blond-haired friend. In the back.” Lovino went back to sipping at his coffee, hiding his slight smirk with the ceramic mug. “Maybe I had a dream about you.” He didn’t, but the cheap line often worked in his favour.

They spoke into the evening, and after they’d had their fill of coffee and pastries, Antonio offered to take Lovino out to the same bar where they’d briefly seen one another. They sat in the back, where they didn’t have to try as hard to yell over the music and the muffled voices of the other bar-goers.

“Did your boyfriend give these to you?” Antonio reached out, fingers tracing over the lobe of Lovino’s ear as the Italian brushed his hair back, revealing the tiny, diamond studs in his ears.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” Lovino didn’t pull away from Antonio’s touch this time, allowing him to pull his hand back himself.

“What about last night?” The question caused a sour look to take over Lovino’s face.

“I wouldn’t go out with someone like him.” Blondie had been polite enough that morning, but Lovino hadn’t been looking to him for anything serious. The only person he’d been interested in enough to pursue something serious with was Raphael.

“What about me?” Antonio asked, and although he seemed to be joking, Lovino swore he caught a flash of seriousness in those bottle-green eyes. Lovino gave the question some thought.

“I can’t figure you out.” He admitted, and when Antonio nodded he went on. “Some people are different underneath. Bad different.”

“Well, how can you tell? I look at you, and you don’t look too bad.” The question was sincere, as if the Spaniard intended to find a way to prove himself.

“Well,” Lovino’s lips turned into a frown, fingers nervously drumming at the mug of beer held between his hands. “I’ve done bad things.”

“Like what?” Antonio’s tone held no pre-judgment, no distaste.

“You say something shitty you’ve done first.” No way in hell was Lovino going to go around revealing his demons with nothing to go off of.

“Uhm… I ran over a dog the other day.” The other’s face seemed to twist up in pain. “But I took it to the hospital! The human hospital. The vet wasn’t open.” He was still frowning, and Lovino idly wondered if this guy could actually do anything truly wrong. “Your turn.” Antonio then prompted.

“I kissed my mo - my friend’s boyfriend.” It was probably best to leave out the fact that it had actually been his mother’s boyfriend. Then maybe Lovino wouldn’t seem quite a terrible.

“Is that it?” Antonio asked with a chuckle, taking a swig of his beer.

Lovino stumbled over his answer, swallowing thickly. “Yeah.” He nodded.

“I think running over a dog is probably worse.” He reached up, rubbing at the back of his neck. Lovino didn’t answer, allowing a slightly awkward air to settle between them. “Well, I’ve got to go.” Antonio went on, standing up from his seat. “Do you want me to drop you off somewhere?”

Lovino shook his head.

“Alright, well… See you around!” Antonio managed a small smile, having obviously caught on to the tense air between them. He began walking towards the exit on the other side of the room, his figure soon swallowed up by the mass of people standing around in the bar.

The Italian sighed, watching after him as his lips pressed into a thin line. He found himself reconsidering Antonio’s question just a little too late.


End file.
